Breaking into a Mountain
by Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard
Summary: Long after the sack of Erebor, but before the re-establishment of Ered Luin, Thorin sought employment in a village in the east of Gondor. He finds himself drawn into the complicated and mysterious life of a common tavern whore. When he finds her to not be quite so common, his own destiny intertwines with hers and sets his mood for years to come. Thorin/OC, Movies with some cannon
1. What Follows

Breaking into a Mountain

By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE LORD OF THE RINGS, THE HOBBIT, OR ANY OF THE CHARATURES FROM ANY OF THE MOVIES, BOOKS, ETC, ETC…THE ORIGINAL CHARACTURES ARE MINE HOWEVER ANY ORGANIZATIONS THEY BELONG TO, CLOTHES THAT THEY WEAR, WORLDS OR KINGDOMS THEY LIVE IN ARE NOT, ETC, ETC, ETC. THIS STORY WAS MADE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY AND I DON'T EXPECT NOR EVEN WANT ANY MONETARY GAIN. THIS DISCLAIMER APPLIES TO EVERY CHAPTER, EVERY SENTENCE, EVERY WORD, EVERY LETTER, ETC, ETC, ETC. ANY REFERENCES TO ANY SONGS, DRINKS, AND SITUATIONS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PEOPLE LIVING OR DEAD IS COMPLETELY CONICIDENCE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. CONTAINS STRONG ADULT MATERIAL SUCH AS DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, ADULT SITUATIONS, AND SEXUAL CONTENT AND IS NOT INTENDED TO BE READ BY ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY. THIS STORY MAY CONTAIN PLOT SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOKS, WATCH THE MOVIES, OR PLAYED ANY OF THE GAMES. You get the drift?

Chapter One: What Follows

_What follows here in the hand written account of Thorin II Oakenshield sometime in the Third Age 2931-2935 and records his lost days since The Battle of Azanulbizar and before the re-establishment of Ered Luin. _

My arrival in the village of Broomball was less than I expected. My original destination had been Calembel, but the city was far too flamboyant and busy to my tastes. I did not linger long in the employment of the city lord, Don Rood the Red. He was a vain and lavish man and wanted my skills only to make chains and jewelry for he and his court. I did not survive death by dragon and orcs to become a decorator for such a man's pride. My own pride would also not allow my desperation in exile to fall to such an employment either. Commoners spoke of a village nearby to the east that prospered around an iron mine. I left within a fortnight and traveled with little rest, however, I would soon come to understand that Gondor was Gondor no matter what corner of the land you found yourself in. Yes, Broomball was smaller, but it was more of a town than a village. The castle of the lord still had high, phallic towers, and the nobility still wore the silky, fluttering linens and precious metals. The attitudes of the commoners were little changed from Calembel.

They knew my face, they knew my sigil and shield, and they knew my name…though they never called me by it. "King-in-Exile," they whispered; snickering and pointing as I passed thinking I would not see. It took a great deal of moral essence to hold my tongue to them. In a normal circumstance I would have put them in their proper place and demanded my proper respect, but I had been traveling far and long. If anything I needed a place to settle and rest for a time, much longer than a fortnight. I wasn't as strong nor young as I used to be.

Employment, that was the first order of business. I avoided the lord. That lesson had been learned. The iron mine was on the outskirts of the village just beyond between the main stone wall and the wooden fence of the outposts. Employment in the mines was considered a low status job in Broomball and as I walked, slow and weary into the district I found myself in the presence of other low status people. Along with the iron mine the district had one tavern, four brothels, two poor houses, a butcher, a barracks, and one blacksmith that attended only to the barracks. The houses were no more that stone and wood roughly mortared together and the air had the thick stench of manure, burning oil, blood, animal decay, sweat, and…other unpleasant scents.

The blacksmith was a fellow Khazad and I felt the tension leave my mind at once. He was not a kinsman I knew though. He was older than I and he moved slowly from an elderly affliction. He was nearly as round as he was tall. His hair was mostly grey but had a few patches of a light, rusty red. His beard nearly reached to the floor and had two braided loops adorned with iron rings. He wore no sigil I could see.

I stood, leaning against the doorway for a while and watched him at work. He had to sit down often for breath and I knew that this would be the best place to inquire work. I stood up straight from the door frame and walked forward making my presence known to him.

The elderly dwarf looked up at me and adjusted the thick, square spectacles on his long, snipe nose. At first his expression would hint to me of a genuine acquisition, but once his eyes focused on the sigil ring on my finger and the wooden shield at my side he looked down and away continuing on with his work.

"Turn away, Oakenshield." He said as he pounded away on a piece of red hot iron, "You will find no work here."

"Was that your answer before or after you recognized me?" I asked setting my pack down on the dirt floor next to a side table. The old dwarf stopped pounding and looked up at me wiping his brow. I thought he would speak, but instead he only sighed and shook his head. He picked up the bit of iron he was working on with tongs and doused it into the water bucket at his side. The metal crackled and hissed.

"Turn away," he said again.

"Tell me, elder dwarf," I said leaning back my head stretching my sore neck and shoulders, "Who else within a hundred leagues could offer you the proper aid that your craft deserves?"

"I care not," the elder dwarf said quickly, "My two sons are near enough for me should the need for help arise, though I would not hold my breath," he said as he pulled the now cooled iron from the bucket and set it to the side leaning against his work table breathing heavily. "These men are lower than… 'humble.' My finer crafts would be looked over, regarded as no better than a simple conjuror's tricks. They care not for the finer details and properties of the iron they commission. The dwarven touch here…does not exist, my lord Thorin. That is why I cannot hire you. The degrade is tarnishing, the despair…heavier than a mountain itself. You need not such a burden, laddie."

"I shall judge my own burdens and despairs," I said quickly, "But I need food. Food and drink, and lodging. Easily found, yet seldom kept with no trade and no steady trickle of silver."

"Come in sometime tomorrow, I'll give you silver. I'll give you gold, if that is what you wish." Said the elder dwarf as he hobbled his way over to his chair, seat worn and withered from overuse.

"I shall receive no wage that I have not earned in an honest day of work." I said sternly, "Look at yourself. You can barely stand on your own two feet for more than an hour. You need a younger, stronger aid or you will work yourself into an early grave. You need another dwarf."

"I have spoken my piece." He said again. "Turn away."

"Your stubbornness is as adamant as your age," I said doing my best to hide my agitation. "I shall seek employment elsewhere. Perhaps, I will inquire with the pompous lord after all." I nodded my head in respect toward him and turned away picking up my pack from the floor. The old dwarf sighed, and reached for a small drawer in his work bench. He pulled out a long, wooden pipe and small leather pouch.

"Find your lodgings, laddie," he said solemnly as he filled the pipe, "Come here just after dawn. I'll have work for you. Work as much, or as little as you like, you'll receive a wage that you deserve. Any arguments and you will insult me beyond forgiveness. Go, rest, Thorin."

"I cannot begin to express…." I began.

"Hush! Forget your courtesies, laddie. You will receive none in return. Leave me be for this evening." He said sternly as he puffed on his piped peacefully, and in silence. I sighed and bowed my head to him turning to leave.

I had not realized that it was, in fact, evening. The sun was setting beyond the shadows of the White mountains and casted a yellowish, urine coloured glow upon the district. This was no place for me to find myself wandering alone in the dark. My sigil ring alone would present enough cause for a brigand to plant his blade through my heart. The tavern was close and would have rooms for rent if the price was right.

A room was easy to acquire after a few ingots of gold passed along the old, inn keeper's wench's palm. I had the key secured in my pocket. I also had a small bag of silver and a belly that called out for a meal, pint of ale, and a full bag of pipe weed.

The ale was as stale as the district and thick, but a welcomed pleasure after so long of a foot trek. I had no sooner found a comfortable, solitary seat at a table far in the back corner, sipped on my pint, ate a bowl of tough, stringy stew, and puffed at my pipe when my glanced first passed her over scanning around the room.

I paused, and returned my eyes to her visage. Upon first glance she would appear as no more than a common tavern whore. Her hair was done up about her head in an overly elaborate way and her dress was provocative and overly showy. What caught my attention and interest was how fair she was. Almost too fair, really for a woman of her status. Her hair was long, falling well passed her waist and wavy. It shone bright in the candlelight like a dark, chocolate diamond. Her face was long and oval with sharp cheekbones, and a slender chin. As my eyes danced around her face I noticed that she was perhaps too slender. It didn't match her body. As my eyes drifted down I took in her broad shoulders, ample bosom, and wide, round hips. The grungy, less than chivalrous men around her showered her in gold and silver for a single smile or light peck upon their gritty cheeks.

Her eyes met mine and connected for no more than a moment, but it was in that moment, and whether it was the fire in the ale, or the haze within the pipe, I felt an insurgence within me, unlike I had felt in a very long time. Her hair was dark, but her eyes were a rare, light brown. They were perfectly round and large and seemed to illuminate in the dim room. They sparked like coals, and perhaps reminded me a bit of liquid gold had they taken on more metallic properties. When her eyes met mine I felt compelled to retain the gaze…until she passed me over for a quick chuckle to one of her other patrons. I sank in my seat a bit, though for reasons unknown. She was a woman of the race of men, and I…I a lost dwarven prince. Sure, what little fortune I had would temp her for an evening, but my honor would be shattered. My lustful days in youth had been spent, and I could not afford such a folly. Like a painting, she was lovely to behold…but never attained. I turned away from her table and finished my pint and pipe in silence.

I learned the next morning, much to my dismay, that the tavern had its very own rooster. And also, that this particular rooster like to crow and caw, quite loudly, just as the first beams of the sun broke upon the land. AND that the pin that held this particular rooster laid just under the window….. of my room. As it squawked wildly I lifted my head from the pillow with heavy eyes. I pushed myself up, reluctantly, from the soft, feather bed, staggered on weak legs and sore feet to the wash bin in the corner, splashed water up on my face and beard and over my aching, bare shoulders and neck, and grabbed the corners of the table leaning over the wash bin letting the water drip below. I sighed. This way of life was starting to get to me. I felt it down to the deepest part of my bones. My skin wasn't as tight as it used to be, my muscles were not as hard as they used to be. To what end does pride clash with the body? To what end does the mind blind the divine spark within us all?

I dug out a clean, black cotton shirt from my pack and slipped into my boots. I lingered on the bed after securing the ties. My mind and heart were willing, but my body hesitated and betrayed me. This was not going to be easy, but then again, I didn't ask for it to be. I secured my money pouch to my belt along with my dagger and set out for a day of work.

I will say in the defense of Broomball that the mornings were not nearly as bad as the village I had found arriving in the late afternoon. The air was not as foul. The streets were busy with folk from the main district going back and forth from the brothels and barracks. Merchants were hauling carts of goods and some even set up little tents selling their wares. It was pleasant and for a moment made one forget the true, rustic atmosphere of the lower district. The blacksmith was just passed the smaller of the two poor houses. As I passed by the threshold a woman came rushing out of the door nearly running me over. She gasped at once and bowed her head in respect.

"I am sorry, master dwarf." She said quickly gathering her skirts up about her to dash off again. She was dressed in a grey, wool frock and had an equally dull wrap around her head and hair. I returned the respect and nodded my head toward her as well.

"There has been no offense," I said. Then, as she stood, she smiled, and hurried on away about her business. But, as she did so, I met her eyes. They were a rare, light brown…like liquid gold.

It caught me off guard. I paused and watched her as she disappeared down an ally toward the main district. It could not be…There was no way she was the same woman I had seen in the tavern last night; the common whore. Or rather, the uncommon whore. The whore had been ravishing and lavish; this woman was simple and coming from the poor house…It was impossible for the two to be one in the same. I pushed it from my mind. Such frivolities could not be afforded.

As I walked into the blacksmith the elder dwarf was looking over some crates of ingots that had been delivered from the mine in the earliest hours of dawn. He carried a book and took notes of the color and weights carved into the crates. He looked up at me as I entered from above his spectacles.

"Ah, perfect timing," he said as he jotted something down in his book. "These crates need to be moved back to the storehouse and dumped into the troughs. Do that, then I want to see how well you can work the kiln. After that, we'll break and head up to the barracks for some food with my youngest son."

I sighed and nodded my head, "Where is the storehouse?" I asked.

The elder dwarf reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys tossing them to me, "It's just round the back," he said.

It was already near mid-day by the time I managed to get the last of the crates to the storehouse. Lifting and dumping the ingots into their proper troughs. My back screamed. After I re-locked the door to the storehouse I leaned against the cool wood and wiped the pouring sweat from my brow. But the day was not done. When I return to the blacksmith he had me work the kiln to make a knife. The fire was hot and grueling. I felt the soot accumulate thick on my face. My already sore shoulders now felt numb and my hands and arms ached and felt like bricks.

The elder dwarf went up to the barracks to luncheon with his son, but I stay behind. His old and worn chair looked far too promising. When the elder dwarf returned he had me assist in forging three new blades for the outpost guard. The familiar, urine glow of sunset began to cast as he turned me free and passed a good bit of silver across my palm.

"I have no need of you tomorrow. Rest, laddie, you have proven your intent. Check back day after next." He said.

After washing up in my room, I found myself returned to my solitary table in the tavern's main room. Tonight's supper at the tavern was the left over stew poured over freshly baked bread with fried chips. The chips were soggy, but filling and of good spice. As the evening passed people came and went but more people were staying tonight eating and drinking in merriment. I decided then that I would retire early, but first I wanted to catch another glimpse of her, the whore. So far, she was nowhere to be seen. My eyes were restless and jumped around the room seeking a chocolate lock or to catch her golden eyes.

When the candles had burned halfway down I decided to give up and get some rest. In the morning I would explore the village and perhaps even look over the wares of the main market place. Then, just as I stood, a group of men filed into the main room carrying instruments. Another Khazad was with them carrying a wooden clarinet. I sat back down and gestured at the ale-wench to bring me another pint.

The band crowded in the corner and started to play merry tunes, singing every once in a while. The Khazad was around my age, perhaps a little younger. He had dark, brown hair and beard with a few greys and had an open, happy face under a wool lined hat. He also played the wooden clarinet remarkably well and had a pleasant singing voice. There were no songs of Dwarven lore but I found myself lost in the tunes as I took another drink of my pint…until a patch of silk passed by my table.

My eyes drifted upward at once and she was there being led on to the table just down from mine by a barracks rat. Her gown tonight had a tight bodice and her bosom glowing and dewy nearly spilled from it. I leaned forward from my table to see just where they were sitting and as I did so she glanced at me over her shoulder her long shining locks whipping around her face as she did so. Her eyes connecting with mine again and the same insurgence spread through me as it had before. I would have smiled, but the command got lost somewhere between my mind and mouth.

Her gaze lingered on me and for a moment her happy and gay demeanor faded as if she had recognized me. But from where? She had seen me last night, but what interest would such a woman have in an exiled dwarf like me? Could it be that she was the woman I had seen coming from the poor house? There was no way. She finally turned her attention back to her patrons. I returned my stare back to my own table.

The band was done. Most of the musicians left but a few stayed to eat and drink with their acquaintances. I dared continue to glance back at the table with the whore. Like the previous night she would come and go as the clients came and went as well. These brigands were showering her with silver and the higher patrons showered her in gold for her private company. I kept track, and by the time the candles had nearly burnt out and most of the tavern crowd gone she would have had more silver and gold than I would see in an entire season's wages.

"I know what you're thinking and if I may be so bold as to say, you don't stand a chance."

I looked up to see the Khazad from the band sit down at my table. He stuffed a bit of bread into his mouth. "Hope you don't mind my joining you." He said as he chewed.

"Not at all, my kinsman." I said, "And your next pint will be of my silver for your company."

The other dwarf laughed, "You need not trouble yourself for my company. I'm not like her," he said and pointed down at the table with the whore.

"Do you know her?" I asked. "Where is she from?" I asked, but then I thought of another question, "Where does she reside?"

The dwarf laughed again as he forked up some chips, "Her name is Eevliina, but I don't know her personally. But trust me and heed my warning," he said reaching out for his pint, "I had the same look on my face when I first beheld her and once I had saved up enough for a gold piece the men around her laughed at my advance and turned me away. They will do the same to you. As for where she lives," he said taking a quick swig, "Nobody knows. She comes and goes like a wind. One minute she is there and the next she is not. Sometimes she will be gone for days at a time. They all ask of her, but no one ever sees her around the village, nor do they say of any strange horses in the stables. I had a dog like that once. He used to run off…"

"And what name do I call you, kinsman?" I asked cutting him off. This one was a talker, and not entirely the brightest.

"Sorry," he said wiping crumbs from his hand on his jacket. He held it out, "Bofur."

I shook his hand, "Thorin" I said.

"Are you serious?!" he asked. "Not…surely not Thorin Oakenshield?"

I chuckled at him, "I am the same." I said.

"I've heard of you. They sing songs of the dwarven uprising at Moria and how you led the vanguard using only a oaken branch to shield yourself. What are you doing in a place like this? And staring at tavern whores? Don't tell me they got you workin up in the lord's castle." He said.

"No, no," I said, "I have found work at the blacksmith for the barracks."

"That's a relief," he said taking another drink of his ale, "The blacksmith is my father, Bomuff. My brother, Bombur, works in the kitchens at the barracks."

"And from whence do you hail?" I asked.

"Here and there, spent a time in Erebor when I was but a wee little thing. I barely remember the halls, but I remember your grandfather. Had jewels all about his beard and such." He said gesturing around his face. "It was a sight to behold." He said and sighed. He lifted up his pint. "To Erebor," he said.

I nodded and lifted my own pint, "To Erebor!" I said and took a quick drink, "It was a sight to behold….much like her," I said looking back down to her table, but she was gone. I leaned over and then looked around the room.

"She's gone now," Bofur said chuckling to himself. I gave him a look and then I stood from the table. "Just where do you think you're going?" Bofur asked.

"She was there not two moments ago. You said no one knew where she goes, well, let's find out." I said.

"No thank you," Bofur said, "I'd rather let the mystery stay mysterious."

"Very well, good evening Bofur," I said and nodded toward him. He returned the nod.

"And to you as well, Oakenshield,"

I rushed from the main room of the tavern and out the front door. There was a chill in the air, but I had no time for a cloak. I hurried down the street toward the poor house. As I passed a narrow ally I saw a shadow move in the dark out of the corner of my eye. I back stepped and hurried down the alleyway. The shadow was a woman, but it was impossible to see her face in the darkness of the night or if she was the whore, Eevliina. Her gown appeared to be fine but the cloak she wore was black and had a high hood covering most of her face. The shadow woman disappeared down another ally, but I knew this one to be leading toward the poor house. Maybe it was the whore and maybe the whore was the beggar woman that had nearly ran into me.

Just as I reached the end of the one alley and turned myself to follow the second my eyes met the broad, dingy chests of two men. The taller of the two men reached out and grabbed my shoulder slamming me into the stone wall to the side.

"Look what we have here Horace," he said in a high pitched voice, "A little lost dwarf running around in the dark."

"A dwarf, eh?" said Horace. "Search him, he is bound to have a bit o' metal on 'im somewhere."

"Unhand me." I said shoving the man's hand away from me.

"This ones' got a bit o' fire in 'im." said Horace.

"Fire? Then let's show him a true fire." Said the other man. He punched me in the gut . I groaned and fell down to one knee. Horace grabbed me by the chin as another man lit a match. "Let's see how fast your fire will burn through that beard." He said lowering the flame toward my face.

SWOOOOOOOSH

The other man dropped the match and it fell to the ground smoking. He gasped and then fell over dead with an arrow sticking out of his back. Horace screamed and fled down another alley. I leaned against the stone catching my breath. I reached to pull out the arrow to see what make it was when another arrow hit the ground barely in front of my fingertips. I looked up and saw the shadow woman standing near with bow in hand. Her face was still impossible to see. I backed away from the dead man and arrow as she walked forward. She retrieved her arrows and then she re-docked one and aimed it at me.

"Master Dwarf," she said in a purposely deep voice, "You saw nothing this night. And if you pursue me again, I shall see it to that you will not see another night. Tell me your name."

I said nothing. Only stared in shock and then I panicked. My name was one of honor and royalty. Sure a man of honor might glance at a whore in a tavern, but never go chasing after one in the dark. Whoever this shadow archer was could pass my name around. I could not let that kind of tarnish happen. I had to give her a name….any name.

"I asked you to tell me your name, dwarf!" she yelled.

"B….Bofur…" I said backing away from her. She lowered her arrow and ran off down the alley. I remained behind as my heart pounded wildly inside my chest from fear and excitement. Un-common whores? Shadow archers? What other secrets does Broomball have awaiting my fate?

Author's Note: Eevliina was a fun name to come up with. Most of the time these names just come to me and I play around with the spelling and pronunciation. Eevliina is pronounce EVE-LEE-NA. Just a little tidbit I thought I would throw out there. Ta ta, enjoy the new story!


	2. Who is Whom?

Breaking into a Mountain

By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard

Chapter Two: Who is Whom?

_A letter found in Thorin's hand believed to be dated sometime after his arrival in Broomball._

Dearest baby sister,

In all things, our close bond has been one of my most cherished kinships. You have been there for me in all things and listened with ears eager to offer advice. Now, I must seek your advice again. When last we exchanged words, I told you of my intention to journey to Gondor. I have now found somewhat steady work and lodgings in a village known as Broomball just to the east of Calembel. It is a most queer village. I can feel secrets breathing behind the walls and the very flesh of the people. There is a woman of Men here who has my mind most cluttered. I don't know what to do, and I fear that I may have taken a step in the wrong direction and now risk shame upon our ancient house. I feel like a dog being led by a leash, and that I am powerless to escape now that I have gotten myself, and another kinsmen involved in this mystery. My best wishes to you and your husband and I would enjoy to hear of the progress of your young sons.

With all love and friendship,

Thorin

_A continuation of Thorin's own accounts while in Broomball_

Dis would know what I should do and at first light and first "singing" of that accursed rooster, I washed and dressed quickly in my finer clothes and went about jotting down a quick letter to take to post. I left the tavern and made my way to the gate of the main district.

While the lower district wound about like a twisting serpent, the main district was organized in three rings around the castle of the lord. The streets of the outer ring closest to the main stone wall were the finer craftsmen. Blacksmiths for gold, blacksmiths for silver, jewelers, and weavers and knitters. The second ring of streets held the merchants. Tailors, candlestick makers, markets, wood carvers and shavers, fancy oils, soaps, perfumes. The air was thick with the scent of spices, flowers, and freshly cut wood. I was glad I had chosen my finer clothes. Many of the higher status people nodded their heads toward me and a few smiles. The ring of streets closest to the lord's castle was mainly the houses for the nobles and knights and the finer merchants.

I dropped off my letter and lingered in the district going from shop to shop and looking over the wares. I nearly bought a pewter mug that had a near dwarven design circling the top and handle but decided against it. It cost six silver pieces and I had only thirty-two pieces of silver left as well as four gold pieces hidden away back in my room in the tavern. After the near death events of the previous evening, I returned to the lower district without the mug. Things were still far too uncertain here.

It was now past mid-day and as I began walking about the narrow and winding streets of the lower district trying to memorize the paths. I came upon the iron mine. It warmed me, and reminded me of home. A group of weary and dust covered miners had just been relieved of their duties and were walking toward me on their way home. Bofur was with them walking with an energetic gait and whistling a merry tune to himself with his dwarven pick resting over his shoulder.

As we passed each other I nodded toward him in respect but he stopped whistling when he saw it was me. I continued on.

"Oakenshield!" he called out. I stopped and turned around to him. He waited until the rest of the miners disappeared down their respective streets and alleys, before he turned back to me, "Come with me." He said.

"Very well," I said, unsure of what business Bofur had with me.

I followed him with caution and in silence until we reached his house. It was made of stone and had a sturdy, strong door which was much better and more expensive than most houses in this part of the district. It had only one room, though, and it was small. A bed was shoved as far in the corner as possible near the hearth and wash bin to make the best possible use of the limited space, a small table for three was shoved into the opposite corner, and several shelves lined the walls with little trinkets and what-nots of his life. Most of Bofur's belonging were still in crates by the door, but such is necessary for the dwarf; never knowing when one would have to pack up and move yet again.

"Please sit." Bofur said as he set his pick against the wall by the door and hung his hat on a hook by the hearth. I nodded at him and walked over to the table and took the seat that allowed me to face him. Bofur appeared to be a man of honor but I did not trust easy and rarely turned my back unguarded. Bofur made quick work of lighting a fire and a few candles, filled two horns of wine, and joined me at the table along with his pipe. I took out my own pipe.

"Would you care to try my blend?" I asked offering my pouch of pipe weed to him, "It's from the north. I bought it in Calembel and find it quite mellow to the taste."

"Indeed I would, thank you," he said taking it. We both filled our pipes and puffed away in silence for several minutes. I took sips of the wine, but it was bitter and strong. This close to twilight I needed to keep my wits about me. I was the one that finally broke the silence.

"Why did you ask me here?" I asked bluntly. Bofur didn't appear to be offended. He smiled and reached into the drawer behind him pulling out a small drawstring bag and an arrow. My nerves unsettled. I knew the fletch of that arrow.

"Funny thing happened this morning," he said as he untied the strings of the bag, "I woke up, got ready to go to work like I always do, but found this," he said holding up the arrow, "pinning this," he said dumping out the bag, "on my front door."

The bag held at least ten, maybe fifteen gold pieces that scattered out on the table. Even my eyes widened seeing that kind of amount. It was the most gold I had seen sitting together since I was driven from Erebor.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Oakenshield?" he asked giving a few puffs on his pipe. I stared at him for a moment, slightly agitated. I fidgeted a bit in my seat. I did not like to be called out to defend myself. I sighed and lowered my pipe.

"Yesterday, as I was on my way to your father's smith for work, I passed by the smaller of two poor houses…"

"Meriada's Place," Bofur said cutting me off.

"What?" I asked.

"It's called Meriada's Place," he said, "Meriada is the old woman who runs it. Bald, no teeth, face as wrinkled as a bull's jewel sack she is. Very kind hearted, though. Once, when I had a bit of a limp…"

"As I was saying," I said sternly cutting him off, "As I passed Meriada's Place, a woman ran out of the door and nearly knocked me over. As she apologized I noticed her eyes."

"Eyes?" Bofur asked raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, she had the same eyes as…what was her name again? The whore?" I asked.

"Oh, that would be Eevliina," he answered.

"Yes, Eevliina. But I knew it to be impossible for the two to be one in the same woman."

"Why is that? Makes perfect sense to me," Bofur said leaning back in the chair. This time I was one raising an eyebrow.

"How so?" I asked.

"If I was a whore, and a popular one at that, I wouldn't want my patrons to come looking for me in the day. So where then would be the last place those patrons would think to look?" he said. I gave him a curious look and cursed at myself for not seeing such a simple logic in the first place. I continued on with my explanation.

"When I left the tavern last night I followed the streets that led toward Meriada's Place. I encountered a woman in a black cloak. She looked of high stock but was no better than a shadow in the dark. I then followed her and had a run in with two thieves. The shadow woman killed one of them with an arrow just like that one and the other thief fled. When she demanded my name I gave her yours in fear of losing face." I said lowering my head, "I know that was wrong, but I did not think she would have come after you. I am sorry."

"Sorry? You did me a favor," he said and chuckled. "That's enough gold to keep my father, brother, and myself sitting pretty for a long time. I'm even going to send a few to my cousin as well. He lives far in the north. Funny thing 'bout my cousin, he had an accident decades ago and he still has a…."

"Let me see that arrow?" I asked.

"Right," Bofur said handing it to me. I looked it over and when I saw the tip I felt enraged.

"This is of elvish make," I said throwing it back down on the table. "Curse that shadow woman! I would spit upon her grave!"

"There aren't any elves around here. Been here near ten years now and not see a one." Bofur said reaching back into the drawstring bag, "But there was also a note." He said taking out the parchment and handed it out to me. I took it and opened it reading it aloud.

"A token in exchange for your silence. Follow me again, and it will cover your funeral."

"It's a ladies hand," Bofur said pointing, "Look how swirly those loops are, Oakenshield."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. What a kinsman to befriend.

"Thorin, please, just Thorin," I said.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's alright." I said taking another sip of the wine.

"This proves that that shadow woman was Eevliina." Bofur said. He had finished his pipe and began to clean it out.

"This proves nothing," I said folding the parchment back up tossing it on the table, "I didn't see Eevliina herself. I only followed the shadow woman to see if it was her. It could still be someone else," I said and I scowled, "Instead its some she-elf."

"Why are you so adamant about this? You don't know anything about her? What she does, where she comes from?" Bofur asked.

I sighed again and didn't answer right away. Why was this bothering me so? I didn't even understand.

"I don't know…" I said solemnly.

"I have a question," Bofur said smiling sitting up in the chair.

"What?" I asked.

"If you're me, does that mean I get to be you?" he asked and then he gave a deep bellied laugh.

I had absolutely nothing to say to that. I lifted my hand to my face and rubbed my temples. It was becoming more and more clear to me now that I had definitely come to the wrong village.

I said goodbye to Bofur just as the sun was about to be swallowed by the mountains and hurried back to the tavern. The evening crowd had yet to come in the main room and supper wasn't being served yet. I went up to my room and dug around in my pack. I was already wearing my best, black tunic and breeches, but I needed just a touch of something else. I pulled my leather sigil belt that was curled up at the bottom of the pack and my leather wrist gauntlets. I stood in front of the mirror and looked myself over. I braided two sections of my hair in the front and attached two wide silver rings adorned with dwarven script to the ends. I washed my face and wiped the mud and dust from my boots.

It had been a long time since I dressed so formally and I felt that I stood as tall as the Men when I entered the main room again. Many of the miners bowed their heads in respect. A few brigands looked me over as well and I flashed them my dagger. They dared not look at me again for the rest of the night.

My usual table was already occupied by some other group of men. Instead I sat at the table in the opposite corner. Supper tonight was a bowl of beans with smoked pork hock and the leftover bread from yesterday toasted near black with garlic and onion jam. I ordered a pint to drink with the food, but switched to water since I had already drank the strong wine at Bofur's. It was at this moment that the phrase "speak of the devil" never rang more true. I was so focused on paying attention for Eevliina that I didn't even notice Bofur enter the main room and sit down at my table. I jumped slightly and stared at him in acquisition.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. He held up a gold piece and smiled at me.

"Just a bit of celebration," he said as he gestured for the wench to come over, "Besides, you've done got me dragged into this…this…whatever it is, and I love a good intrigue as much as the next dwarf."

I continue to stare at him but said nothing. The wench came over and took his gold piece, bringing him two bowls of the beans and pork hock and he went ahead and ordered three pints of ale for himself before she brought him back a small pouch of silver for his exchange. I sighed. I would have to drag his drunk arse all the way back to his house. I could see it already.

I had another puff at my pipe and continued to watch the room as Bofur gorged himself. When he was done, he put his hands on his stomach and leaned back in the chair.

"I haven't eaten that much nor that good in a fortnight," he said, "Better take it easy, though, or I'll end up looking like my brother. Have you ever met my brother?" he asked.

"Can't say that I have," I said in a stale tone.

"You don't have to act so steamed, I have a plan for us tonight," he said. Now he had my attention and now I felt a slight twinge of worry.

"What plan?" I asked.

"Can't tell you," he said taking out his own pipe, "You'll see."

I lowered my pipe and leaned over the table toward him, "What plan?!" I demanded.

"Fret not," he said chuckling, "Good thing you got all prettied up. She probably wouldn't take a second look at me."

I lifted my finger to say something back to him but some men started to cheer on the other side of the room. I turned at once and sat up in my chair. She was here. Bofur only continued to chuckle at my reactions.

Tonight all of her chocolate hair was braided and pinned up on her head and I double checked to make sure she didn't have pointy, elven ears. Her gown was velvet and a blue as deep as the sea. Several silver chains hung from her neck and a large silver broach was pinned right in between her breasts on her bodice. She went to the table to the men that cheered but they were not her usual patrons. They gave her a few pieces of silver and they kissed her hands and cheeks as she giggled and re-filled their pints, but she never sat down at their table.

She began walking around the room stopping when men handed her silver to give them small, quick company. I glanced around the room and noticed that most of the men that gave her gold were nowhere to be seen. I turned my head to Bofur who was still watching my reactions and smiling to himself. I lifted an eyebrow to him. He leaned over.

"The lord and noblemen always have a meeting and small feast at the end of the month. They won't be in here tonight," he whispered.

"Bofur," I said in growing agitation, "What do you intend to do with Eevliina?" I asked.

"Just relax and trust me," he said gesturing to the wench that he was ready for another ale. My nerves rose up to my throat as I turned my attention back to Eevliina. She was getting closer to our table. I couldn't even imagine what embarrassment was in store for me tonight. Maybe I could just slip away and sneak back up to my room and let Bofur deal with his own actions keeping myself innocent.

She walked pass the table and I tensed up waiting for Bofur's "plan" to unfold. But he didn't do anything. Her eyes passed over us and seeing no silver on the table, so did she. I exhaled in relief and felt my nerves relax…until Bofur dropped another gold piece on the end of our table. My eyes widened and I glared at him with fiery rage burning within my blood.

Hearing the ingot land on the wooden table, Eevliina turned around and came over to us. She saw the gold and she raised an eyebrow but before she could inquire Bofur stood up from the table. He took off he hat and bowed his head kissing the back of her hand.

"Sweet, beautiful maiden of the tavern, I pray only that my small, humble fortune can tempt you only in your company at our table for the evening," he said and he looked up and winked at her.

I was ready to smack the bastard. Maiden? Really? Great Durin I would die a thousand deaths for these atrocities I have brought upon my house.

Eevliina held her hand up to her mouth to cover a farce giggle, "My dear master dwarf, how sweet you are!" she said. Bofur put his hat back on and continued to smile at her with his damned, dimpled and rosy cheeks.

"Will you join us, mi-lady?" he asked.

"Of course," she said picking up the gold piece, "but by what names do I call you?" she asked as she looked Bofur over first and then me, lingering on the details of my outfit and when he eyes reached mine I saw a hint of recognition. Perhaps….just perhaps….

"I am called Bofur," he said sitting back down at the table. I was about to introduce myself but her reaction halted me dead in my breath.

Upon hearing his name her eyes widened and her fake smiled faded quickly from her face replaced with a look of genuine shock…until her molten eyes returned to me. I felt as if daggers were flying from her eyes at me. It WAS her! She WAS the shadow archer! Her eyes finally returned to Bofur and she curtsied politely.

"You must pardon me, Master Bofur, but I suddenly feel very faint. Please excuse me," she said laying the gold piece back down on the table hurrying away and out of the main room.

Bofur smiled to himself as he put the gold piece back into his money pouch at his belt along with his exchanged silver and filled his pipe for another smoke. I glared at him, much like Eevliina had glared at me. He noticed but only chuckled again.

"You got a few answers at least," he said calmly.

"This was almost the perfect opportunity to actually meet her!" I exclaimed in anger.

"Oh, come on now," he said puffing on his pipe, "You know better than that! What you see here of her is just an act. It's not the real Eevliina."

"And what of the real Eevliina? That may not even be her true name; at least in a conversation I would have been able to read her." I said pulling out my own pipe angrily.

"I didn't think she would storm off, though. Sorry, Thorin," Bofur said offering me his box of matches, "Didn't mean for you to get all dressed up for nothing. I feel bad; want me to give the wench a silver to dance with you?"

I lit my pipe, gestured to the wench for another ale, and only continued to glare at him.


	3. A Curious Parchment

Breaking into a Mountain

By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard

Chapter Three: A Curious Parchment

_ A continuation of Thorin's own accounts in Broomball_

I swear by Durin himself that this evening I will feast upon the flesh of rooster! After leaping up from the bed to the window and contemplating whether or not to break it open and hurl down my axe upon the feathered abomination I saw the letters that had been slid under my door. The foul fowl was the least of my problems. My muscles roused from sleep and a dull ache spread through my body as I stretched out my arms and shoulders. I stood still and groggy at the window, delaying in walking to the door to retrieve the letters for reading. Dis could not have received my letter and written back within a day, and I had no personal acquaintance in Broomball, besides Bofur and his kin. I doubted they would have any news that would be so pressing as sending me post.

With a sigh, I crossed the room to the wash bin, bathed quickly, and dressed. My presence in Broomball might become a much longer residence than I would have initially liked, and I carried with me, not counting my formal attire, only four shirts of small clothes and three breeches. Launder was expensive and time consuming. I would have to give in, and make change of another gold piece to acquire more clothes. I dug about in my pack pulling from it my grey, cotton shirt. My finger poked through a hole in the left shoulder. Perhaps such an expense was necessary after all.

Clean, dressed, and nibbling on a bit of the dried beef I had brought with me, I finally forced myself to pick up the post from the floor groaning to myself as soon as my eyes found the wax on the top letter. I knew that seal. It was the seal of the Council of Gondorian Lords. I peeled back the wax and unfolded the parchment.

"_Thorin, son of Thrain, You would do my house a great honor by dining at my table. Presently, I am restocking my wares from a previous feast. However, my hearth and home will be available for your visit within a few days. Do not trouble yourself with the pity of the common people. A noble stallion should not be stabled in the mud and carrion of pigs. Signed, Frunk, son of Daiden, Lord of Broomball, and Warden of Iron."_

"Warden of Iron, humph, what do you know of iron?" I said out loud as I crumpled the parchment up and tossed it into the orange coals remaining in the hearth. Spare me your false courtesies; I shall dine at no table of yours. I would still have to write some kind of response to him out of respect, and come up with a reason for refuse his "honorable" invitation. I looked down to the second letter in my hands. Rage bubbled within my veins, and I nearly tossed it, unread, into the hearth as well. The seal was elvish, but no sigil that I knew off the top of my head. I reluctantly peeled back the wax and opened it.

_"Master Dwarf, or should I call you Bofur or perhaps Thorin, son of Thrain, or Thorin Oakenshield? You seem to have names and titles in abundance. You are a presence well known, yet a body seldom seen. Tracking you was an easy enough task. Heed my words dwarf, count your sunrises and spend your evenings in your own company and the company of your own. Let your nose grow too long and it shall find itself in a snare, never to take another breath. The name and pretty face you pursue from your loins are not a visage of the fiery spirits that dwell within. You let your eyes guide you and deceive you."_

There was no name as to whom it was from, but it was easy enough to guess. It was the same "loopy" handwriting, as Bofur was so keen to point out the previous day, as was on the note with the arrow and bag of gold. I looked it over in my hand and re-folded it, setting it down on the bedside table. I sat back down on the soft, feather mattress and hung my head low, running my fingers through my hair.

I don't have the time or strength to waste on such a nonsense. These little riddles and games hidden behind a pair of golden eyes and a seductive smile were weaving a wicked poison through my thoughts; a dark, bitter sweet tapestry. This man obsessing over a non-existent affection was not me, but more of some common street monger from back woods and water. A silly, fool's hope of a romp in a more exotic soil that remained and would always be pointless, time consuming, unfruitful, and risky. I stood again, confident and proud as I reached for the parchment. I stomped over to the hearth and Eevliina's letter followed suit, curling and burning along with the ashes of the lord's.

The parchment caught fully and flared as the smoke billowed up into the chimney stack. As did along with it all of my thoughts of the woman of Men with the chocolate hair shining like diamonds and eyes of molten gold. I locked up my room, left the tavern, and set off for the blacksmith with a clear mind free of the demons of lust.

"Today I want to see your finer skills," Bomuff said as he stoked the fire by the special kiln for gold. "The captain of the barracks has commissioned a new ceremonial sword. He wants his sigil laid in gold filigree on the hilt."

I said nothing and only nodded. _Molten gold…_ I thought. Surely this was some kind of cruel joke. Bomuff continued on, "After that, if you want a bit of extra silver, you'll help us make an iron door."

"Us?" I asked lifting an eyebrow.

"Hullo!"

I closed my eyes as soon as I recognized the overly happy and humming voice. Bofur emerged from the back of the smith with a pair of tongs holding a red hot hinge fresh from the forge.

"Shouldn't you be at your station down in the mines?" I asked him.

"Nope," Bofur said with a smile as he doused the hinge in the water bucket. "Told the master I quit."

"Wait until he tells you why," Bomuff said sarcastically looking up from the coals of the gold kiln at his son.

"Remember, yesterday, when I said I was going to send a bit of that gold to my cousin?" Bofur asked.

"Vaguely," I said sighing, wondering again why I ended up in the company of he and his kin in the first place.

"Well, instead of sending him the gold, I decided to invite him here," Bofur said as he pulled the hinge from the bucket and set it to the side, "I'll need the extra hand once I get the shop up and going,"

"What shop?" I asked as he returned into the back of the building.

"He's bought the house, next door to his own and plans on setting up shop as a toy maker. He's got the mason there now looking over the walls and framing." Bomuff said. "I told him it was foolish, and that no one would venture all the way down here just for a toy."

"Toy maker?" I asked.

"My father was a toy maker, and started to teach Bofur when he was very young, but we soon were separated from our kin. Bofur had no choice but to follow in my footsteps instead. He was my apprentice until we came here to Broomball and then went to work in the mines for a higher pay." Bomuff took his keys out of his pocket and walked past me toward the door, "I'll go around back and get the gold out myself. The captain is paying a five-hundred silver commission for this sword. I'll give you half if your dwarven skill is a sharp as you so fiercely declared."

I sighed again shaking my head, Bofur's business was his own, and I had work to do; work that would earn me a fair bit of silver. Perhaps even enough for new small clothes and the mug I was fond of from the main district.

Bomuff had already made and folded the billet of steel for the blade of the captain's sword. He went about sharpening and shining the edge as I worked the gold for the filigree. I casted the hilt myself and toiled for nearly an hour laying the molten gold into the intricate pattern drawn out on a bit of parchment as my guide. I took my time and made no mistakes. It was late in the afternoon when I handed the finished hilt to Bomuff for inspection. He adjusted his spectacles as he looked it over sitting in his chair.

"This is fine work indeed," he said handing the hilt back to me. "You will attach it, and deliver it tomorrow. Help Bofur with his new door then come back here for your commission and wage."

I nodded to him and went to the back of the building. Bofur had already finished casting the pieces of the door. I helped him load the bundles into a hand cart, thankfully, mostly in silence apart from him whistling and occasionally chuckling to himself. I had to lug the cart myself all the way to his house as I was the "hired help", as he so blatantly put it. He went into his own house to discuss business with the mason as I started hacking away the old, rotted wooden door and put together the new iron one. The sun was beginning to set beyond the mountains and I was starting to worry. I still needed to return to the blacksmith's for my wage and wash up in my room for supper. And have supper in the main room oblivious to anyone, man or _woman_ who may be walking around.

Bofur insisted that I stay and sup with him. He said his brother was coming, and wanted me to meet him, but I refused. I hurried through the narrow streets back to the blacksmith, only to find that his door was closed and locked. I didn't truly need the silver for this night, but I cursed and kicked at the dirt out of anger anyway. The last beams of twilight were barely shining over the tops of the mountains when I reached the tavern. I passed the archway to the main room on my way to the stairs and saw that not only was the supper crowd crowding the room and tables; Eevliina was sitting next to some pompous noble whispering something in his ear giggling.

I could not tear my gaze away for several moments. I felt a deep pit within my chest. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before, and I could find no words to describe it. My eyes casted down to the floor away from her. I gripped the rail of the stair in frustration and slowly made my way to my room. I lit the few half-burnt candles and got a decent fire going in the hearth.

I removed my soiled shirt and added it to my pile to be eventually laundered. I staggered on sore feet and legs of lead of a withered spirit crossing the room over to the wash bin. I lathered my face and hair washing away the day's worth of soot and grime. I removed my stale, sweaty breeches and tossed them aside as well. I stood naked before the mirror, and examined my own body.

What was once was, was no more. What was once the hard and chiseled pride and physicality of my kin was no more than an aging, time warped body and soul manifested like grievances. The crime of time that is best described as the most brutal of jests. While battle had scared and hardened my flesh, it was time that fatigued and softened it. I lifted my hand and traced my fingers along the deepening wrinkles on my brow and on the corners of my eyes. I was watching my vitality seep away with every passing decade of my life.

I finished washing the rest of my body and dried. I decided it would be best to skip the communal supper and nibbled away on another piece of dried beef while slipping into my cleaner pair of breeches. I found myself lost in my own thoughts sitting on the bed. The candles burnt down slowly. The dimming light casted shadows across the walls as my own demons casted shadows across my mind. The village and tavern quieted around me.

The silence was suddenly broken when the latch on my door clicked. It startled me and I stood up in a defensive stance. I knew that I had locked that door. As the hinges creaked through the air my blood danced and thoughts raced wondering if I should rush to my sword or to my axe. The door opened fully and from the dark of the hall entered a man in a cloak.

"What is the meaning of this?" I asked sternly, "You have the wrong room, sir."

"Sir? Are you blind as well as foolish?"

My tension eased, but my nerves sprang. This was no man, but a woman of Men. As my eyes adjusted to the dimming light my mouth opened slightly in shock. The woman lifted her hands to the hood of her cloak. As the dark fabric fell my eyes found the golden gaze of Eevliina.

I could form no words as my mind tried to understand the scene before me. This could not possibly be happening. But before I could piece together a coherent thought she crossed the room toward me. Her hand rose to my mouth.

"Shhhhhhhh, Master Dwarf," she said as she gently traced her fingertips along my upper lip. My eyes closed taking in every sensation of her touch. My body frenzied with excitement as my better judgment slipped away. It had been a long time since I felt a woman's flesh against my own, and to think I would soon feel Eevliina's. That thought alone made my blood boil near to burst and awakened a dark hunger within me. I opened my eyes again and found hers, staring with a fierce passion and carnal need.

She stood nearly a full head taller than me, but as my hands found her waist with a grip of a deadly, sinful intention she weighed nearly nothing. I lifted her and turned laying her down upon the sheets. Her hair fell around her like rivers of ribbons of glittering silk. I laid upon her in a way so that my leg was between hers and our faces were even with each other. I gently nudged upward with my thigh between her legs and she gasped. She stared up at me with those eyes of molten gold. The candle light reflected within them and seemed to glow. I felt as if I were back in the treasure hold of Erebor. I leaned down to bring my lips to her own, but she stopped me; only giggling.

It was at this particular moment that I woke and found myself to be the victim of my own imagination. I reached up to wipe the pouring sweat that had formed on my brow; chest red hot and heaving. It had only been a dream, and not a particularly clever one. I felt as if I were pubescent again as I pulled back the blanket and swung my legs over the side hoping to stand only to groan, finding my breeches had painfully "tightened" as I slept. Now, I fully realized that my little, unintentional obsession was growing absolutely ridiculous. I would soon pass my one-hundredth and eighty-sixth birthday. Shame would have been an understatement for such a dishonorable display of myself. Then again, perhaps my body was playing games with me. I was fretting about my vitality before I laid down. I suppose this was one way for it to tell me I wasn't entirely spent just yet.

It was still far from morning, but I would find no more sleep this night. My heart still fluttered wildly in my chest and every time I tried to close my eyes, I saw only her face; looking up at me from the pillow as if the image had been burned there. I rose from the bed and slipped the gritty shirt from the day over my head. I buckled my belt around my waist and slid into my boots before picking up my battle axe. Double checking to make sure my key was in my pocket, I locked the door and headed back down toward the lobby and main room.

A single candle burned by the desk next to a rusty iron bell. The tavern keep was asleep, but the front door was always unlocked for the unexpected traveler. There wasn't a soul wandering around in the halls and very few others on the streets. I was tired, I was grumpy, I was hungry, I was sore, and I was frustrated. I walked around the back of the tavern to the rooster's pin with every intention of bringing my axe down upon the bird's neck in hopes of brightening my soured mood. I would pay for it, of course, and claim it was an accident. I found the old cock asleep in the hen house. I lifted my edge to swing when I heard the whispers. I stayed my axe and listened.

"We are the luckiest blokes, we are!"

"Will you shut it? Do you want someone else to come along a find her? I ain't in a sharin' mood,"

"There's no one walking about at this time of night, Horace, and those that are walking around know better than to follow the screams."

Horace was that thief that had nearly burnt off my beard the night I followed Eevliina onto the streets. Who had they found, and why would this person be screaming? I tightened the grip on my axe as I tiptoed down the street and peeked around a corner into a dark alley. The only light came from a flickering candle in the wavy glass window of a near house. Horace was kneeling down and looked like her was trying to open something but it was impossible to tell what. I hunkered down, and crept closer.

"What if she wakes up?" the other thug asked.

"If she wakes up, you give her a right good kick in her pretty face and she will go back to beddy bye." Horace said.

I felt courage take me. These brigands probably found some drunken woman at the tavern and dragged her out here for a quick rape. I could not let them get away with such an atrocity. Horace had gotten the best of me last time, but I now had the element of surprise.

"Serve's the little bitch right," Horace said, "Dancing around the tavern all night looking the way she does and never even giving guys like us a smile."

"When we're done with her, we can cut up her face real good. Then we'll see who is smiling."

The courage that had compelled me to take action for the sake of justice and chivalry to save a stranger blazed into a full-fledged inferno of rage. They had Eevliina, and I drew near I could see Horace fumbling with the ties of her bodice.

"URRRAAAGGGHHHHH!" I cried as I sprinted at them. Horace fell backward on his rear and tried to scramble away on his hands and knees as I swung my axe across the back of his knees. He screamed and rolled over writhing in pain as the air filled with the scent of blood. His friend pulled out a dagger, but before he could jab at me I whipped the axe back around to my front and made contact with his wrist. The dagger fell to the ground as the thug screamed. The hand did not completely severe and hung down from the rest of his arm by a bit of sinew. He fell to his knees and cried out for help.

I heard voices rise in the house that had the candle in the window. I panicked, and I would not say that my next actions were among my brightest, nor most thought out plans. I knelt down quickly and lifted Eevliina by one arm leaning her over my shoulder. I assumed I would have difficulty lifting her, as she really was a head taller than me, but found her to be very light; unhealthy light. I could feel her bones under the fabric of her fine dress. Another candle moved across the window. This was no time to be lingering.

The tavern was too risky. The main street would soon crowd with bystanders and gossipers. Also, I did not like the idea of having my house tarnished by the sight of myself carrying the village's most popular whore, clothes torn and skirt bloodied, up to my room. I couldn't take her to one of the poor house or to a healer. I dashed off into the darkness toward the only other place I could think of; the only other place that was safe and secret.

Bofur didn't answer the door right away and I cursed him silently. I constantly looked over my shoulder checking the streets and alleys for the lord's guard or soldiers from the barracks. A light came from Bofur's window as the latch clicked and the door opened.

"Do you have an idea of the time?" he asked lifting his candle to illuminate my face and circumstance. He wore a long, white cotton sleep shirt, and I half expected him to be wearing his woolen hat with the ears, but instead he wore a sleep cap. When he realized it was me and then saw that I was carrying Eevliina in the state that we were both in, his face looked shocked for a moment…and only a moment.

"What a pleasant surprise," he said smiling, "Don't just stand out there in the chill. Come on inside. I'll crack open the good ale."


	4. Concern for the Common People

Breaking into a Mountain

By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard

Chapter Four: Concern of the Common People

_ A letter written by Bofur sent to his brother, Bombur. _

Please pardon me, Brother for writing instead of a personal visit. As I discussed with you the other night, the toy shop is now taking up most of my time. The first few days will be tough; getting all the supplies and things ready. You will see less of me, but I am confident that this idea will bloom. Bifur should be coming within a fortnight and we will all get together for a feast, I promise. One of my first projects will be to try and re-create that toy grandfather made with the horse on wheels. I remember when he first gave that to us. That was fun. I miss those good old days sometimes. Do you remember that one time when uncle Kokoff tripped on that one toy he made that had the box looking top and the wheels and the turning clog? He broke his nose on the fall and everyone said that his nostril's shadow could tell you the time of day. He made a mean beef roast though.

I got a little off topic there for a moment. I must tell you of the events of last night. When last we spoke we talked of Thorin Oakenshield. He is becoming one of my very good friends and I feel that he enjoys sharing his time in my, and father's company. He works hard in the smith and father's orders are growing. That night I first met him at the tavern, I could tell that he took a fancy to Eevliina. That same night he tried to follow her and ended up almost getting robbed by a couple of thugs. And you will never guess who rescued him. Eevliina herself! Anyway, he gave her my name instead of his for fear of shame and that next morning was when I found the bag of gold. Then it was that night that I tried to get Eevliina to sit at our table, mine and Thorin's that is. She got all angry when she learned that I was really myself instead of Thorin and left, and then Thorin got a little bit angry. But oh well. I thought that I would be done dealing in his little romance problem, but last night I had a couple of strange visitors.

There I was, sound asleep, dreaming of toys and such when a knock came to my door. I got up, lit a candle, and answered it thinking that it could have been father, or Bifur come early. Instead, I open my door to find Thorin carrying Eevliina, clothes torn and bloodied. I was shocked at first. Who wouldn't be?

"What a pleasant surprise," I said, "Don't just stand out there in the chill. Come on inside. I'll crack open the good ale."

"Thank you, Bofur," Thorin said.

He hurried into the house and laid Eevliina down on my bed. I just sort of stood there watching him, trying to figure out what was going on as he ran around my house drawing the curtains on every window. He had a sweat on his brow and looked anxious.

"Bofur, I need broth and milk," he said as he paced next to the bed watching her. His hair was sticking to the sweat on his brow and he reached up and swept it away. "I need them now!"

"I have no broth, nor milk," I said, "I don't keep much in the house."

"In Durin's name why?!" he asked angrily still pacing.

"Don't have much need for it," I said.

"You have a need for it now!" he said. Which by the way is one of the reasons for writing, I hope you receive this post before nightfall. Please bring some food supplies in the utmost of secrecy if you can. It could be a matter of life and death. Meanwhile, back to the story. I went over to the barrel and filled a horn mug with ale.

"Drink this, Thorin. Take a deep breath, and tell me what's going on," I said as I handed him the mug. He took it and drank deep.

"I found her," he said catching his breath after his large gulp, "A couple of thugs were trying to have their way with her. I engaged them."

"So, they are dead now? Lovely," I said.

"I don't know." He said.

"I thought she was an archer, how did the thugs sneak up on her like that?" I asked filling a horn mug for myself. Thorin held out his freshly emptied and I refilled his as well.

"I do not think the thugs attacked her directly and subdued her." He said, "I think she might have feinted and they just found her on the street."

"Feinted?" I asked. "Feinted from what?"

"When I lifted her, even thru the fabric of her gown, I felt her ribs and hips. She seems too thin. I think she might be starving." He said. He set his empty again mug down on a shelf and continued to pace around.

"Would you just sit down already!" I said waving my mug toward him, "Durin! You'll wear out a groove in my bloody floor."

Thorin gave me a look, but said nothing and went to the table and sat down.

"Alright," I said calmly, "Now I know you fancy her…"

"I never said I fancied her," he said cutting me off mid-sentence, "It's more of a…I'm not really sure if I…I'm a noble, and a noble has to have sincere concern for the common people!"

He was getting angry, I knew that, but I near chuckled at his reactions. Sincere concern? Is that what they are calling it these days?

"I'm sorry, Thorin," I said, "What I meant to say, was that I understand you have a 'sincere concern' for her, but look at yourself! 'Had to save her.' 'She is starving.' She makes more money than a king. She can't be starving. You're going to go bat wing and pig shit mad if you keep this up."

"You look at her!" Thorin said pointing an angry finger at me. "Does she not look thin?"

I glanced at her quickly and then back at him, "Yes, she does look a bit thin."

"Alright then, so if she makes all this gold and silver, why would she want to stave herself?" he asked.

"Well, you said she lives in that poor house," I said.

"I still don't know that for sure. It could have been a different woman I saw coming from the poor house," he said and he sighed. He lowered his head and cradled his face in his hands. "It seems as if every time I get one step ahead of this woman she takes another path. The rug trips me beneath my feet and my thoughts are filled with more questions and darker mysteries. There is something far greater at work here…and I don't have the faintest idea what that may be. I only know one thing for sure."

"And what's that, pray tell?" I asked. He lifted his face looked over at her still motionless on the bed.

"I HAVE to help her. There is a pull from her that hooks me directly in the chest like she had chained herself to me, and I could not escape her if I wanted to."

There was something in his eyes, brother. Something far greater than any of us, and I knew he spoke truth. Poor bastard. He fancies her. I know it. He just doesn't want to admit it to himself, but you didn't hear that from me!

I sighed walking over to the side of the bed and looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her breaths were quick and rapid. I studied her for a moment.

"Her bodice is too tight." I said pointing.

Thorin's face reddened a few shades, "I may have noticed that as well."

"It's compressing her chest too much. She can't breathe properly." I said.

"Yes, Bofur," he said, "That is usually what it means when a bodice is too tight."

"So? A quick cut of a dagger will help that. I little cut and rip rip. She can breathe again." I said to him.

"I thought of that too…" he said and he looked away from her and down to the floor.

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

"I can't tell if she has a chemise or small clothes underneath or not. The fabric is too tight." he said with clear embarrassment in his voice.

My eyebrows rose. I looked back down at her and then back at him.

"Right," I said setting my ale down on the nearby table. A big o' grin came to my face, "I wouldn't want you taking such a risk to your honor, Oakenshield. If it needs to be done, I'll do it."

Seriously my dear brother, what male in their right mind wouldn't want to take that kind of…uh…risk.

I picked up a small dagger from a nearby shelf and took just one step forward towards Eevliina. Suddenly, I felt a great pressure on my shoulder. I glanced over to find Thorin's gaze, quite…agitated wouldn't be quite a strong enough word. His fingers tightened the grip on my shoulders to the point of breaking bones as he eased me to step away from the woman. I smiled at him and nodded.

"Right then," I said handing him the dagger, "I'll just step out for a pipe. Leave you to it."

"No, don't step outside. It's too conspicuous," he said as he gripped the dagger in his hand. "But if she does become…accidently exposed you better not sneak and peek."

"I promise, I won't peek," I said.

Of course I was going to peek.

He sighed and stared at her in deep thought for several minutes in silence. "I….I want to keep her here." He finally said

"That's what I was thinkin," I said, "Let her get some rest and a decent meal. She'll be right as rain in the morning."

"No," he said sternly, "Not in the morning."

I gave him a funny look and raised an eyebrow, "What exactly are you asking of me?" I asked.

"If we let her go, we will never see her again," he said, "She will flee Broomball and probably kill us in our sleep."

"You can't seriously be thinking about keeping her here against her will." I said. " Whatever mysteries and shadows that linger over this village will endure without answers," he said, "We need to figure this out. We need to keep her here."

"We?" I asked, "When did this project become a 'we'? This is completely a 'YOU' thing."

"What would you have me do?" he asked.

"Don't get involved!" I said, "Or at least if you plan on locking her up like a beast, then take her back to YOUR room at the tavern and don't get ME involved."

"If I recall," he began glaring at me, "You owe me your little 'toy shop' simply for the fact that I did 'get YOU involved.' Now I know that what I ask is not the most honorable, nor noble of tasks, and I know that I cannot force you….but please help me." He said and then his expression changed, "I must help her,"

His eyes did not lie. He was vulnerable. I sighed.

"Fine," I said, "WE will figure something out."

A small smile came to his face and he nodded. "Avert your eyes" he said sternly as he leaned over the bed with the tip of the dagger on the hem of her bodice.


End file.
